But to what aim? All those years ago, her father had been right. Evan had been a small-town boy with no ambitions outside of Goose Harbor. He was simple, whereas Claire had possessed big dreams, and she was smart. Brilliant. Evan had heard through the very active Goose Harbor grapevine that Claire had accomplished a lot since their failed wedding. Unless the gossip was mistaken, she’d earned her doctorate and had traveled abroad, studying art history. If they’d married, that never would have happened. Evan would have held her back. He wasn’t good enough for her, not then and not now. Even he knew that.
Still, it had hurt to walk away. He wished she at least knew that part.
Evan focused on putting his gloves on. Flexed his hands a few times but still couldn’t get his feet to go forward.
The ship that was his future with Claire had sailed many, many years ago. Sailed and sunk like one of the many abandoned boats that lined the bottom of Lake Michigan. If Claire had wanted to discuss their past she wouldn’t have disappeared for more than a decade. She wouldn’t have hopped on a plane the same day as their failed wedding ceremony. He’d sent notes to her by way of her mother and had never heard back. He hadn’t known any of her new information—address, phone number, email address—but most of his hadn’t changed. She could have called and demanded answers at any point.
But she hadn’t.
Truth was, Claire had narrowly missed destroying her life that day, and she probably knew it. The day Evan regretted most was no doubt the biggest relief of her life. No matter what she had thought she felt for him at eighteen years old, it was painfully obvious that she didn’t feel anything warm toward him now. So much the better.
She deserved more than being shackled to a Daniels.
Though he’d admit to anyone she looked pretty today. Since returning from New York she often strutted around town too polished, too fancy, wearing designer everything—using her exterior to keep people at a distance the same as she had in their old days together. Today, though, she’d been flustered because of Alex. The kelly green coat she wore had been buttoned lopsided, the delicate point of her nose was red and winter’s breeze had run telltale fingers through her hair, leaving the long auburn strands tangled and dusted with snowflakes.
He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her more beautiful.
We haven’t talked in twelve years. Let’s not start now.
Yup, eleven years of her in New York, and the past year she’d spent in Goose Harbor avoiding him. Her math was sound, and the implications drove nails through any last hopes he might have clung to of them ever getting along again.
The memory of her words pierced his thoughts, leaving his throat suddenly dry. Evan dug farther into his coat pocket for a cough drop. He popped it into his mouth and let the menthol pour through his sinuses. Took a deep breath. Started to leave.
“Wait!” Claire’s voice stopped him.
Evan swung around. Sure enough, Claire was stepping toward him at a fast clip, Alex jogging behind her. Her heels hit a slick spot on the narrow path to the town hall and she started to tip backward.
“Whoa.” Evan dived forward, quickly slipping his arms around her waist and preventing her from tumbling to the hard ground. His hands came flush against her back, cradling her toward him. Why had he put his gloves on? He would have enjoyed the feel of her hair draped over the back of his hands one more time...
Alex whooped. “Good catch!” Then he bent down, scrambling to collect all Claire’s scattered paperwork.
During the process of almost falling, she’d dropped the thick folder-type thing she’d been clutching, and had grabbed on to the lapels of his coat for dear life. Inches from him—close enough to count the freckles she tried to hide—Claire’s soft blue eyes frantically moved over his face until their gazes finally met. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t shove away. His heart pounded like a Sawzall, and just like that he was eighteen again with the woman he had loved in his arms. The woman he had wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life with.
You’ll hold her back, son. You’ll be a weight around her neck. She’ll grow to hate you. Is that what you want? If you love her like you say you do, then let go. It was the first—and more than likely, the only—time he and Sesser Atwood would ever agree so wholeheartedly.
Evan shook that thought away and focused. “I got you.”
Smooth, Evan. State the obvious. Women adore that.
“I don’t want you to,” she whispered. Then her eyes snapped to life and she pushed against his chest.
Ah, right, there it was. The resentment he usually saw setting her features.
Evan let his arms fall away. He swallowed the last of his cough drop, savoring the burning feeling of it going down his throat, grounding him. With her standing nearby, having called to him, he finally summoned the courage to start the conversation he wished he’d had back before she ran to New York City. Might as well get the awkwardness over with. “Claire, this is long overdue, but I need to—”
“Why are you running for mayor?” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped out a Morse code message detailing her annoyance with the toe of her pointed glossy boot.
Not what he’d expected. Then again, Mrs. Clarkson was known for spreading everyone’s business around, in a kindly, grandmotherly way, of course. Claire probably went in to hand over a payment for her family’s water or refuse bill, and Mrs. Clarkson couldn’t help but tell her all about Evan submitting his application to get on the ballot and run at the final hour.
He scratched the spot where his neck met his jaw. “Oh, that. I guess, why not? The position’s open.”
And because he and his brother Brice planned to use his clout as mayor to help get a new boatyard and dock built. One that would give Sesser Atwood a run for his money and loosen the chokehold monopoly he had on the shipping business in Goose Harbor. On all businesses in town.
A political tidbit Evan hardly needed to share with the tycoon’s daughter.
“That’s it?” More toe tapping. A nervous habit he recognized from the old days. Back when he’d known what every single movement she made meant. Known that if her shoulders slumped a certain way she’d had a bad weekend with her parents or an argument with her father. Before she gave a presentation or speech in class, she used to tap her foot faster than his 18-volt jigsaw running on the highest setting.
Evan pointed down and didn’t even fight the smirk he felt tugging at his lips. “You’re going to wear out your shoe doing that, you know. Not much is different, huh?”
She stopped and shifted her weight. Narrowed her eyes, and her stare went hard. “Everything is different. And don’t change the subject.”
If looks could kill... The set of her shoulders and jaw told him she was ready for battle. With her expression of fury and her red hair fanned over her shoulders while fat snowflakes fell between them, she looked like a snow queen ready to save her kingdom from an invading army. Sparks and quips made up her favorite line of defense, but he wasn’t intimidated. Claire survived by keeping people at a distance, by making them believe she was all burrs and thorns.
Too bad he knew better.
Break through her barriers and she became the sweetest, most sincere person he’d ever met. Her rigid exterior was nothing more than a wall for a terrified girl to hide her heart behind. She only needed someone to cheer her on and infuse some courage into her, something neither of her parents had ever done. At least...that’s how she’d been twelve years ago.
In the past, the best way to reach over her wall was to act like her glares had no effect on him.
“So what if I’m running?” Evan slipped his hands into his pockets and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Why do you care?”
Alex handed Claire the padded folder, which he’d jammed all her papers into, so they stuck